I’m feeling a bit low, and apprehensive about the year to come. Perhaps because of having missed my walk again – it was judged too slippery.

 

However, I have knit on, past the corners of the hap-centre. And have baked my sourdough, which came out all right. I kept some for myself this time. It’s good, but not as stunningly wonderful as I half-expected. Helen cut the loaf, when she was briefly here to tell me I didn't have to go for a walk, and gave some to Daniela, who said "olEEgo olEEgo" (="Just a bit"). Alcibiades, had he been there, would have understood it, as I did, although neither of us speaks modern Greek.

I don't think Latin turns up in Italian quite so often, although, wonderfully, "Salve!" is still used as a greeting.

 

James’ wife Cathy has got Covid – classic symptoms, and a positive test after two negative ones. She’s asthmatic. James – so far symptom-free – is a Type 1 diabetic. The NHS threatens to be overwhelmed with this new, fast-spreading variant. There’s plenty to feel low about. But we’re about to start using the Oxford/Astra-Zeneca vaccine – that’s good news. Much cheaper, much easier to store.

 

Reading

 

I’ve finished Roy Strong’s diaries, 1998-2003 or thereabouts, The next volume is very expensive, even in Kindle form, so it’ll have to wait.

 

I’ve got going with Rachel Ray. She’ll keep me for a while. Shandy, you say that Orley Farm is on the radio. Where? Radio 4 had an hour-long programme about pantomime at 3 this afternoon. Kirsten, I’m delighted to have your recommendation for “Crampton Hodnett”.

 

Other

 

Chloe and Mary Lou: I have no idea where George Blake got the knitting needles for his rope ladder. It would have needed a lot of them, assuming the walls of Wormwood Scrubbs (wonderful name) are of a reasonable height. It is a detail frequently mentioned – i.e., copied from one to another – in accounts of his escape. It implies a custom-made rope ladder, not just one you would pick up off the shelf of a rope-ladder shop.